


Thicker Than Water

by phandomsub



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: 2009, Angst, Depression, Emotional Hurt, M/M, POV Outsider, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-17
Updated: 2018-05-17
Packaged: 2019-05-08 04:25:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14686434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phandomsub/pseuds/phandomsub
Summary: Daniel isn’t handling his punishment well, and his mother doesn’t understand.





	Thicker Than Water

**Author's Note:**

> Most names are fake due to my lack of desire to look them up, and any real person (apart from Dan and Phil) mentioned in this piece has been fabricated into my own character. Thank you to my muse and better half (and beta) @darlingimwhipped over on Tumblr

Jackie is just finishing up brushing her teeth when the yelling starts.

‘What are you – hey! No!’

The Howell family house is old – not old enough to be considered heritage, but enough to sit within the price range of two twenty-somethings with a baby on the way. At least, it had been when she and her husband had bought it, nearly nineteen years ago; with the state of the current market, they would have had no chance. They’re marginally better off now even with an additional kid under their wing and could probably afford an upgrade, but they’ve turned the objectively ugly 60s build into a home and, in all honestly, she just isn’t ready to let it go. Penance for that is living with its incredibly thin walls, and her eldest sons’ voice rings as clear as if he were in the room.

‘Stop, give them back!’

‘For God’s sake,’ Jackie says, drying her mouth on a towel and throwing it back on its rack. ‘It’s half past bloody midnight.’

Stomping out of the tiny en-suite and over faded carpet, she swings open her bedroom door, expecting to catch her kids at each other’s throats, as per usual. Instead, she’s surprised to find her husband in the hallway with a laptop in one hand, a phone in the other, and a very distressed Daniel on his heels.

‘Dad, seriously, give them _back_.’

‘I warned you.’

‘Pete?’ Jackie says, pulling in her loose dressing gown. ‘What on Earth are you doing?’

‘I told him to go to bed over an hour ago,’ Pete says, gesturing to their son, ‘and he was still up on these damn things, so he loses them for a week.’

Daniel's eyes grow wide under his feathered fringe; he grips at his doorframe in dramatic despair, sleep-shirt pulling up over the red boxers they bought him for Christmas.

‘A _week_?’ he cries. ‘No, Dad, I’m sorry. I’ll go to sleep, I promise–’

‘Yes, you will, because you won’t be up all night on the fucking internet!’

‘Shh!’ Jackie hisses, waving her arm at him. ‘If you’re so concerned with them sleeping, don’t go waking Adrian up.’

‘Mum,’ Daniel begs, turning his doe-eyes to her. ‘Don’t let him, please.’

The desperation on his face makes her falter. Then, she recalls the five minutes she spent dabbing concealer on her dark circles that morning, after waking twice during the night to laughter from the next room.

‘You were told,’ she says.

Lips lax with indignation, Daniel looks frantically between them. He takes a sharp breath, mouth opening, as if he’s about to push the argument – Jackie shakes her head, and his shoulders immediately slump, gaze trailing to the floor.

‘I hate it here,’ he mutters, before turning and retreating into his room, door falling shut behind him.

*****

‘Adrian!’ Jackie calls, hurriedly dishing up the last of the fried eggs. ‘Breakfast!’

For some nameless reason, Thursdays are always a struggle for Jackie – no matter how closely she sticks to her usual routine, time always seems to get away from her, and all she can really do is try and keep up. With one eye on the ticking clock, she juggles the dirty frying-pan and spatula into the sink, giving them a quick scrub with an overused sponge. As she’s loading them into the drying rack, footsteps echo into the kitchen behind her; the sudden relief of the rangehood fan shutting off tells her it’s her husband, and her muscles relax gratefully at the fleeting peace it brings.

‘Smells amazing,’ Pete says, gently touching her hip as he passes. ‘Toast?’

‘None left,’ Jackie says – words that are far too common in a house with three boys. Turning around to dry her hands, she sighs, finding the dining table still empty. ‘Adrian!’

‘I’m _coming_ ,’ Adrian huffs, trudging in, dressed in his school polo and pyjama pants. With an unstifled yawn, he scoops up the plate with the most bacon and settles in at his usual seat. ‘What, no toast?’

‘Just eat your breakfast,’ Pete says, flicking on the kettle. He takes two mugs from the cupboard, one white, the other colourful with a child’s drawing – the latter has a small chip in its rim, a remembrance of when Daniel had dropped it on his way home from kindergarten. ‘Coffee?’

‘Tea, if you could,’ Jackie says.

‘No hankering for caffeine this morning?’ Pete raises his eyebrows playfully, large hand delving into the value-sized box of teabags. ‘Someone slept well, then.’

Jackie smiles as she gathers her own breakfast, but she hasn’t the time to reply before another pair of feet patter in.

‘Oh, and it looks like you’re not the only one – you’re up early.’

Daniel doesn’t respond. The miserable look on his face stays put as he brushes by, beelining straight for the pantry without so much as a glance their way. Swinging it open, he grabs a box of cereal from the top shelf; Jackie watches as he bypasses a bowl and milk completely, simply leaving with the entire thing. Footsteps stamp back down the hall, closely followed by a slamming door.

‘Well,’ Pete snorts, after a second of ringing silence, ‘good to see those theatre classes paid off. Dear lord, all over a bloody laptop.’

‘You took his laptop?’ Adrian pipes up, eyes brightening. ‘What did he do?’

‘ _Eat_ ,’ Jackie orders, pointing a warning finger, ‘or yours is next.’

*****

The clinking of cheap cutlery fills the dining room, drowning out the TV that drones constant bad news. Outside, the sun is setting, dark rain clouds rolling in over the evening sky – peering through the back window at the oncoming storm, Jackie makes a mental note to bring in the washing once dinner is done.

‘We dissected a rat in biology today,’ Adrian mumbles through a mouthful of beef. ‘They were so gross, Mark almost fainted. It was brilliant.’

‘I remember dissecting a worm in sixth form,’ Pete says, rubbing his jaw in reminiscence. ‘We had to pin it down while it was still squirming.’

‘What wonderful dinner conversation,’ Jackie drawls. Scrunching up her nose, she pushes an egg noodle off her fork. ‘Could we possibly talk about something else?’

‘Sorry, love,’ he says, glancing around for a change of subject. ‘What about you, Daniel?’

Across the table their eldest sits, idle and reticent, long sleeves pulled over slim hands that prod at his dinner but never seem to bring anything to his mouth. He listlessly looks up at the chime of his name, eyes big and bleak beneath the fur of his ushanka.

‘What?’ he says.

‘What did you do with your day?’ Pete asks, taking a slice of white bread and mopping his plate with it. ‘Apply for any jobs?’

‘How?’ Daniel frowns. ‘You took my laptop.’

‘And your phone,’ Adrian adds, gleefully. Jackie pointedly ignores him.

‘Did you go out with Sarah, at least?’ she asks. ‘You can talk to her in real life, you know, not just over Skype.’

Daniel’s gaze dwindles back down to his plentiful plate; again, he twirls his fork, but just leaves the noodles to slowly unravel.

‘No,’ he says, softly.

‘Did you do _anything_?’

‘What?’ Adrian snickers. ‘You mean other than cry?’

Daniel’s shoulders tense, drawing up by his ears, which have darkened into a deep shade of red under his hat.

‘Fuck off,’ he hisses, sending a glare at his younger brother.

‘If you miss your girlfriend, just walk the four blocks and _visit_ her,’ Pete says.

‘More like he misses his boyfriend.’

‘Adrian!’ Jackie snaps, patience with his interjections wearing thin – she turns her frown on him and immediately his cheeky grin vanishes. ‘Stop being so damn rude.’

There are more scolding words on the tip of her tongue, but she loses them at the sudden clatter of glass and crockery. She jumps, startled; for a second, she thinks Daniel has slammed his hands down on the table, but as he stumbles to his feet she realises he’s only knocked against it in his haste to stand. Fleetingly their eyes meet, and she can’t help but feel like she’s missed something as he leaves the room.

‘Christ,’ Pete says, once they hear the tell-tale sound of a bedroom door shutting. He tries to laugh, but it falls flat. ‘I thought boys were supposed to be easy.’

***** 

‘ _Bloody hell_.’

Jackie groans as she pulls the last rogue item from her handbag, dumping it atop the small pile that’s gathered on the passenger seat. Tipping it upside-down, she shakes it over her lap; a single tube of nude lipstick falls out and rolls to the floor.

‘I’ve forgotten my pass,’ she says, glancing at Adrian via the rear-view mirror, sat sprawled across the back seat. ‘Can you pack this up while I run in?’

‘Mhm,’ he hums, eyes and thumbs fused to his Nintendo DS. ‘Sure.’

Swinging open the car door, Jackie slips from her Vauxhall Corsa into the crisp, English morning air. Black oxfords clicking against cement, she power-walks back up the driveway to the front door, keys in hand; it takes some jiggling for the lock to turn, as usual, and then she’s tearing through the house towards the empty kitchen.

‘There it is,’ she tuts, snatching up her lanyard from the bench and turning on her heel. As she passes the study, she almost drops it. ‘Jesus!’

When she had locked up the house mere minutes ago, Jackie was convinced that the only person left inside was still fast asleep – so when she spots the tall figure huddled by the bookshelf, dressed all in black, she almost screams in fright.

‘Daniel!’ she cries, clutching her chest as he turns around. ‘You nearly gave me a heart attack!’

‘Sorry,’ he mumbles, arms curling around his thin waist.

‘What are you even doing in there?’ she asks, exasperated. Daniel falls mute and her eyes narrow in suspicion, dragging down to the locked filing cabinet by his knees. ‘Oh, for Gods’ sake.’

‘What?’ he says, high and defensive. ‘I haven’t done anything.’

‘I’m barely out the door and you’re already snooping around,’ she accuses, pointing at the silver box. Its bottom draw isn’t labelled, but, ever since Pete picked it up from a garage sale a decade ago, it’s been known as the confiscation draw. ‘Well, good luck getting into it. Your father has the key.’

Daniel follows the line of her finger and stares at the cabinet as if he’s never seen it before; brows burrowing into a frown, his demeanour bristles sharply.

‘Aren’t you going to be late dropping off your perfect child?’ he snaps.

‘Adrian isn’t _perfect_ ,’ Jackie bites back, ‘it just isn’t hard to not be so damn miserable all the time.’

Daniel’s angry expression wilts like a sow-thistle. The tension pours from his body and falls to the floor, gathering as a heaviness around his feet. Defeated, he drags them from the room, pushing past her and disappearing to the other end of the house.

Agitated and slightly addled, Jackie doesn’t follow. Instead, she takes a second to settle her heartrate – and that’s when she notices the disorder in the bookshelf. One row has fallen into a successive tilt, off-angled by the loss of a supporting book; the hardcover lays haphazardly on its side, two shelves up. Stepping forward, she reaches up and grabs it, turning it over in her hands.

It’s their old, worn copy of _The Complete Tales of Winnie-The-Pooh_. Jackie doesn’t need to open it to know there’s an inscription to Daniel inside the front cover, handwritten by her mother for his first birthday. It’s something she’s seen countless times before, but not in recent years; glancing at the deserted doorway behind her, she tries to remember that final bedtime story, the night she had closed it for the last time. Running her fingertips over its creased spine, Jackie catches sight of her watch.

‘Shit,’ she hisses, fitting the book back into place before rushing out, work pass swinging from her wrist.

*****

‘He won’t come out.’

Pete gives a defeated shrug as he drops into his dining chair. Four placemats are set on the table, laid with steaming plates of Tesco-brand lasagne, but one dish remains untouched; Adrian sits to its left, happily shovelling pasta into his mouth.

 ‘Has he eaten at all today?’ Jackie asks, and Pete shrugs again. Sighing, she puts down her cutlery and stands. ‘I’ll go and get him.’

The warm light that seeps from under Daniel’s door acts as a beacon in the dim hallway, leading Jackie to a bright patch of carpet soiled with an old stain – the result of spilled blackcurrant juice, or maybe chocolate milk, she can’t recall which. Since he turned thirteen, it’s become commonplace to find Daniel’s door perpetually sealed shut; a few years back, he even asked Pete to install a sliding lock on the inside. Now, as she knocks to no response, Jackie is grateful for the blunt refusal.

‘Daniel,’ she says, flinging it open on a lifeless room. ‘Dinner is ready.’

‘M’not hungry,’ he mumbles, almost inaudible where he lies, curled up on his bed with his back to her.

‘Going on a hunger strike isn’t going to help, so stop sulking and come eat.’

‘I said I’m not hungry.’

‘You’re being ridiculous,’ Jackie huffs, stepping into the stale air. With hands on hips, she scowls at her melodramatic mess of a boy. ‘You were _told_ to go to bed, and you didn’t listen. Besides, you don’t need the bloody internet to talk to–’

‘Me and Sarah broke up weeks ago.’

Jackie falls into a stunned silence. She waits, but Daniel doesn’t elaborate, or even move.

‘You…what?’ she says, voice softening. Arms falling to her sides, she takes a step closer. ‘You two broke up? Is…is that why you’ve been so upset?’

All she receives in response is a sad sniffle, muffled by the old pillow he’s hidden his face in. She bites her lip, cautiously extending a hand; it lingers above his trembling shoulder, so close that she can feel his warmth, but is unable to close the gap.

‘Danny,’ she says. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

‘Because you don’t _care_!’

Daniel rolls over, as quickly as his long limbs will allow on the undersized mattress. His eyes are bright red and bloodshot, cheeks stained with dry tracks that lead past quivering lips. Jackie feels her insides twist – it’s a strange kind of empathy she’s only experienced since becoming a mother, like a physical manifestation of her child’s pain, felt deep in her womb; as she watches the tears drip from his lashes, she tries to pinpoint when the water that once connected them became a canal between them.

‘I do,’ she says.

‘No, you don’t!’ Daniel cries, scrambling to sit up on the edge of the bed. ‘I’m fucking _suffering_ and you don’t–’

He’s interrupted by his own ragged sob. Pressing a palm to his mouth to stifle the sounds, he cries into his sleeve, struggling to do so much as stay upright. A cold dread plagues Jackie’s core when she realises she’s seen this before.

‘Sweetheart,’ she says gently, bending down to what would be eye level, if he would look at her. ‘Is this…just about your break up?’

Daniel buries his face in both hands and cries harder. Jackie waits patiently until he finally shakes his head.

Silently, she sinks onto the bed beside him, laying a cautious hand on his knee. When he doesn’t pull away, she strokes it soothingly with her thumb through the soft fleece of his pyjama pants.

‘Talk to me,’ she urges. This time, his shake of the head comes quickly. ‘Come on, bear. You have to talk to someone about it.’

‘I was,’ he says thickly, pulling his mouth from his soaked sleeves. ‘But you took my laptop.’

Taking a chance, Jackie wraps her arm around Daniel’s shoulders – when again he doesn’t pull away, she wonders why she ever thought he would. He falls into her easily, his palms replaced by her shoulder, and slowly weeps himself into a lasting calmness. She continues to hold him as he just breathes, the stillness long and tranquil – until a thought strikes her, and she can’t help but voice it.

‘Hold on, if you broke up weeks ago, who have you been talking to?’

Daniel peels away, grabbing a tissue from his bedside-table and blowing his nose thoroughly; Jackie soon spots that it’s not for the sake of integrity, but an attempt to hide the pink blush on his cheeks.

‘Oh?’ she says, eyebrows rising. ‘It’s _that_ kind of talking, is it? Do they happen to have anything to do with why Sarah’s no longer in the picture?’

‘ _Mum_ ,’ Daniel whines – his flush darkens, but his body language doesn’t tell her she’s overstepping.

‘Come on, surely you owe me after keeping me up so damn often,’ she jokes lightly, nudging his shoulder with her own. ‘At least tell me her name.’

The small smiles that had crept onto Daniel’s lips disappears. Fingers twisting together, he looks up at her, a war raging behind his brown eyes – one of sadness, and anger, and determination. He takes a deep breath.

‘Phil,’ he says.

The single word rings off the faded walls. Jackie blinks.

‘…oh,’ she says, hoping her voice will convey whatever emotion it is that she’s feeling. It doesn’t, and she struggles to form thought, let alone words. ‘That’s – a boy? That’s–’

‘You don’t have to say anything,’ Daniel says. Swallowing thickly, he presses his fingers to his eyes. ‘I know what you’re thinking.’

‘And what’s that?’

‘That you’re disappointed.’ His voice breaks into a whisper. ‘That I’m a fuck-up.’

With an aching heart, Jackie wonders what she’s done so terribly wrong these past eighteen years that’s lead her child to believe that; she isn’t sure, but she hates it with every fibre of her being.

‘No,’ she says, pulling him back into her. Holding him tight, she blinks back tears. ‘No, love, if anyone has fucked up, it’s me.’

***** 

Daniel’s bedroom is dark, heavy curtains drawn on the ever-lessening light of seven AM. As she carefully edges open his door and creeps inside, Jackie is cautious of her foot placement, doing her best to avoid stepping on anything. Averting the pile of clean laundry that’s been strewn across the floor, she tip-toes tentatively to his messy bedside table. Listening closely to the gentle in-and-out of her sons’ breathing, she clears enough space to set down his laptop and phone.

About to turn back, she stops suddenly, distracted by the image of her sleeping boy; the top of Daniel’s head pokes out from the bundle he’s made with his blanket, its edge tucked right up to a pair of peaceful, dozing eyes. Overcome with the desire, Jackie bends to press a chaste kiss to his forehead, running an affectionate hand over his messy brown hair.

‘I love you,’ she whispers. Then, with one last caress, she leaves.


End file.
